Fragments
by Riza's Cupcakes
Summary: They were together even before they knew it themselves; their shattered lives formed a mosaic that would be impossible to complete on their own. [100 prompts challenge] [Royai]
1. Chapter 1: Introduction

_Since I'm too busy to update fics with longer chapters regularly, and I still want to write to keep fresh for the times I can work on them, I decided to do one of these challenges. I'll post a drabble for every week I'm not going to publish something from a major fic. (Or a separate oneshot, if any come to me.) These drabbles are completely unrelated to any of my other fics, so I can write them without referring to them or spoiling any future plotlines. _

* * *

Introduction

Avoiding people was easy. Ever since her mother's death, Riza had perfected the art of slipping between shadows as though she was one of them, of disappearing into the woods on a perfect summer day when she knew there was nothing for her at home except for stuffy air kept in place by windows that no longer opened and eyes that looked right through her. Today, she had a different reason for hiding, just as she had for the past two months. She had glimpsed the boy from her bedroom window on the day he had arrived, had set food out for him and skipped away before he could see her. Though he looked about her age, she was unsure how to speak to him, and it was better not to distract him from his studies. Her father would be furious if she did.

Still, in spite of her fears, she found herself drawn to him, watching from shadowy doorways as he pored over countless books, waiting for the courage to approach him. She wouldn't have to wait again. The boy shifted in his chair, straightening his posture. "I'm not blind, you know," he said.

Riza wiped her perfectly dry hands on her skirt, opening and closing her mouth as she waited for her voice to come out. The boy pushed himself out of the chair and turned to face her, locking eyes with her for the first time. She tried to look away, but found herself stepping out of the shadows. Pitch black, those eyes were as warm as sunlit room she had been too afraid to enter until now.

"I've seen you around," he said. "Making my meals, cleaning up after me, pretending like you don't exist. You always look so sad." When she didn't say anything, he changed his approach. "My name's Roy. What's yours?"

"I'm Riza." She took another step closer to him, thinking of the rabbits she followed with a slingshot. It was silly for her to act as scared as them when this boy—Roy, she knew now—seemed so polite.

"Riza. That's a pretty name," he said. "It's nice to finally meet you. I've been lonely for other kids since I got here." He looked sheepish now, conspiratorial, even. "Maybe we could play together sometime. I'm not used to studying all the time."

Though she did not smile, Riza's voice was far more cheerful when she spoke, "I'd like that."


	2. Chapter 2: Complicated

Complicated

He brought sweets with him from Central. It had only been a week since he'd left and yet she missed him as though he'd been gone a month. He'd been gone longer than that before, but it had never felt like this. She even waited for him at the train station, spring breeze lifting her hair. The train pulled into the station precisely on schedule with the familiar smell of smoke. In turns, it smelled like loss and recovery, and today was the latter. At least twice a year, Roy went home to his family, and though Riza longed to accompany him, to leave this stifling valley that was all she knew of the world outside of books, he had never offered to let her come along.

Roy smelled of his long day of travel but Riza didn't mind as she stepped into the familiar embrace. When she returned it, she held on a little longer than she meant to. In the latest stretch of time without him, she had come to realize just how large a place he had come to occupy in her life. The same arms she had felt around her for those brief moments on the platform before he stepped back to fish through his bag had hung around her neck once, while she dragged him back from a nasty encounter with a snapping turtle, and they had carried her home on another occasion, when she had tangled her foot in a patch of poison ivy, even though she had insisted that she could walk just fine.

He pressed the bag into her hands. It was tied with a bright orange ribbon and filled with an assortment of caramels and toffies. "Thank you," she said, resisting the urge to hug him again and the strange fluttering in her stomach that accompanied it.

They walked home side by side, sharing the candies as they walked, and Roy talking around whatever he put his mouth, giving a report on the wellbeing of each member of his adoptive family. Riza listened, sucking on her toffee as she became conscious of just how loud her chewing was. Roy didn't seem to notice, which made her even more self-conscious than the chewing sounds had. His voice didn't crack anymore, and it was much deeper than it had been when they'd met. His shoulders seemed broader than she remembered, too, even though she knew that kind of change couldn't have happened in a week. It must have happened too slowly to see, just like how he had gone from an inch taller to nearly a foot.

It almost hurt to look at him. He had been her best friend for so long but now that wasn't the only thing she wanted. Her heart ached with every glance she stole while they walked, and she began to wonder if he would ever see her as anything but the girl who'd taught him to fire a slingshot and who he'd taught to mend clothing with her mother's old sewing kit. It hurt to realize he'd never look twice at a plain girl like her compared to all the girls he surely met whenever he went to Central. Nearly two years older than her, it was likely he had stolen kisses only the night before from some stranger he might have gone to school with if he hadn't chosen to pursue alchemy. If only such thoughts didn't bother her. Even six months ago, they hadn't. Everything had been simple until now.

Had she always twirled her hair like that? It was too short for her to keep it up, but occasionally, in the week leading up to the inevitable haircut she would ask him to give, Riza would play with one of the longer strands in such an endearing way he found himself thinking about it when he was supposed to be studying calculus. It wasn't the only thing he'd noticed about her. He'd be lying through his teeth if he said he hadn't noticed the curves that had appeared almost overnight, or the nicer, more feminine clothes she wore, that must have belonged to her dead mother, as they were all a little too big. It was endearing in a way, since she didn't seem to mind or even notice, and her pride only made him like her better. She had seemed so shy and quiet when they'd first met, and it was only as their friendship grew that he had come to learn just how many sides she had to her, and to realize that he was probably the only person to know her completely.

He'd be leaving for Central again in a week. It wouldn't be any trouble to ask her, and Christmas had been telling him to for years now. The thought of a long train ride with her, possibly leaning her head against his shoulder as they dozed across the vast countryside appealed to him, although that appeal made him feel every bit as guilty as he was excited. This was Riza. His best friend. His partner in crime. A girl who set snares for rabbits and had trapped his heart just as easily, but why would she want it? She read adventure stories and talked excitedly about leaving this place for university. She'd never spoken of the kinds of feelings that stirred in him now for her. They would only complicate her future. Trying to ignore the heaviness that had settled over him, he decided to suggest the trip anyway. Maybe he'd find a way to get her a tour of the Central University campus, if she wanted. At least he'd get to see her if they lived in the same city, and they could still be best friends, even if that was no longer the only thing he wanted.


	3. Chapter 3: Making History

Making History

"I'm gonna be famous someday," Roy confided in Riza as they lay facing each other in a pair of old sleeping bags in Riza's backyard, a lamp glowing softly between them. For his tenth birthday, he had wanted to go camping, and he had had to assure Riza that he didn't mind that they wouldn't have a tent, and that they couldn't go past the gate. With the tall trees pointing to the stars above, it was easy to forget both the fence and the house. It felt as though they had found a quiet clearing in the middle of the woods.

Riza smirked, disbelieving. "You _are_? What are you gonna do? My dad already figured out flame alchemy, otherwise you wouldn't be here."

Shaking his head earnestly, Roy corrected her: "No, I'm gonna find something even better than that because I'll be the youngest person ever to learn flame alchemy. Maybe I'll even invent something like lightning alchemy."

In the lamplight, Riza's face was even more incredulous and she snorted in disbelief. "Yeah, right. There's no such thing as lightning alchemy."

"Just you wait and see," he shot back, and they both laughed, because the future was for grownups, and a little teasing only made them better friends.

* * *

The whispers plagued them everywhere they went, even though they pretended not to hear. Voices swirled past, harsh and abrasive as the desert sand.

"Hero of Ishval."

"Hawk's Eye."

The titles hung around their necks like thick iron medals coated with gold. The people around them saw only the superficial prestige, while their own necks hunched forward from the weight. Whatever it was they had wanted in that mess of childhood days, it was now tucked away like dusty photographs in an attic, all nostalgia and sepia tones. Sentimental around the edges. Thinking of that past now required them to wade through the war that separated them from their youthful innocence. It seemed they could only catch it in glimpses that belied the depth of their relationship, the long years they'd had to come to understand each other without needing words.

One August evening, when the sun had turned the city's windows to gold and the horizon's clouds a deep orange, Roy turned his back to the sight, and still ignoring the paperwork on his desk, turned to Riza, who stood at his side, too weary from the day to scold him.

"I wish I could change my face," he said softly, in that gentle tone he reserved only for her. "Just for a little while. Until the fervor dies down."

Riza flashed him a brief, sympathetic smile. "It will never go away completely. You'll have your picture in every history book going forward."

"I hope this won't be the only reason," he said, returning her smile with a grimace. "Someday, we'll make things right, Lieutenant." In the privacy of his office, he patted her shoulder gently, awkwardly, and though he probably felt the gesture wasn't as reassuring as he had meant it to be, it was the intention that counted to Riza. After all, for the next decade or so, she knew intentions would be all they had to carry them both forward until they could once again alter the fate of their country.


	4. Chapter 4: Rivalry

4: Rivalry

In theory, the fact that his master had a beautiful daughter should have been a spectacular perk to studying alchemy under Berthold Hawkeye. In practice, Roy found it utterly maddening. After growing up with her, wrestling with her, catching bugs, and climbing trees, he treasured her friendship; and she, his; but the latest years had brought changes to them both. Changes that, in Riza's case, she seemed oblivious to. The way boys who had previously made fun of her for playing with a boy now gravitated toward her, offered to carry her books for her and walk her home from school. And Roy would have been at the front of the line of those offering had his master not ordered him to be more diligent with his studies.

If he was honest with himself, however, he knew full well that that wouldn't have been enough to stop him. The biggest obstacle was Riza herself, as she would surely treat him as though he'd lost his mind if he went all the way to town just to walk her home from school. On top of that, she'd told him about her would-be suitors with an air of irritation, as though the attention bored her. And then she always laughed in that gentle way that never failed to draw his attention to the mouth he so wanted to kiss, and thanked him for always keeping his head around her.

Today was different. Today, he looked out his bedroom window to see her walking in step with a stranger, her books tucked under his arm, and her attention focused on him. Roy slammed his book closed, buried his face in his hands. He had been a fool to think that no one would ever catch her attention, and an even bigger one to hope that he might be the exception.

When she stepped into his room a quarter hour later, she was radiant: the sunlight streaming through the window caught in her hair, her eyes seemed to glitter, and the tiny freckles splashed across her nose and shoulders enticed him to count them with his lips. All he could do was remind himself that he was damn lucky to be her best friend, and that best friends were happy for each other even if that meant hiding the pain that might come from realizing they might not end up following the progression of their lives that Roy had thought was implied.

"Nice day at school?" he asked.

But Riza—brilliant, gorgeous, stubborn Riza—knew him better than that. "You're jealous," she said, that same irritation in her voice that she had once reserved for the boys who lavished her with unwanted attention.

"Jealous? Of what?"

"Don't play dumb, Roy," she said.

For a brief moment, the dime store novel cliché of kissing an angry love interest flashed across his mind. He discounted it immediately. He had a feeling that kissing Riza while she was angry was a one-way ticket to the hospital, especially for someone whose feelings she clearly did not reciprocate. "I saw the two of you through the window," he admitted meekly.

"Thought so." She moved across the room to sit on his desk, crossing her ankles and kicking both her feet gently into Roy's thigh. "Alchemy never puts you in this sour of a mood. How long have you liked me?"

Roy scooted his chair out of her reach. "Liked you? Don't be ridiculous. I'm just disappointed to learn that my best friend's a hypocrite."

Her expression did a lot more damage than the playful nudge with her feet. "Not half as disappointed as I am to learn mine's a liar. If you can't be happy for me, can't you at least be honest?"

"Alright, I've liked you since spring. The last time I left for Central." He admitted it the way he used to admit to leaving his dirty socks on the table. "How long have you liked him?"

"I don't like him," Riza said. "I was just so tired of waiting for someone I do like that I decided to give him a chance."

Roy shifted, wondering if she had been referring to him. "So you're together now?"

"He walked me home from school and carried my books. It's not like we're betrothed." She looked down at him, eyes blazing, although not with anger this time. "Of course, if he asked me on a date, I would consider it. If you don't think you can live with that, I suggest you find your backbone and ask me first."

Without waiting for a response, she hopped off his desk and swept out of the room, leaving Roy flabbergasted. After a few moments spent opening and closing his mouth, Roy hurried out as well, hoping that enough of summer still remained in the air that he would be able to find a flower or two in the woods. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it right, and he was going to do it before that hotshot had another chance.


	5. Chapter 5: Unbreakable

Unbreakable

What good does it do to memorize a number you'll never use? The digits of Riza's new phone number were as ingrained in Roy's head as his own, and it was even more useless now that she was no longer on his team. On nights when he missed her voice so much he started to wonder if he was forgetting how it sounded, he would pick up his telephone, dial the first digit, and then slam it down, shaking his head. In East City, she had never been more than a phone call away, either to talk or to ask if he could see her. If he needed her, she would be at his apartment in minutes, or he at hers. But Central was vast and teeming with political rivals who would tear him apart if they had even a shred of evidence that his feelings for Riza ran deeper than those of an old war buddy. And now that she was out of his command, she was even more off limits than she had ever been.

If they hadn't suspected their feelings, Riza would have been sent home to the East, where she'd be safe and she could call to check up on him. Keeping her under constant observation, just out of his reach but where he could still see her in the hall, still try to get her to return one of his forced smiles with one of her own, was nothing short of cruel. Had she been transferred under any other soldier, for any other reason, it would have been the perfect opportunity to invite her over whenever he pleased, and possibly even to marry her, if she didn't write that off as unnecessary. He might have even been happy with it. Though he would never admit it to her, he wished he could leave her doing paperwork and keep her out of the line of fire. He didn't have to admit it. She knew that perfectly well, knew that the only reason he hadn't asked her to retire and support him from their home was his respect for her choices, and that she had made one she couldn't go back on.

So when the phone rang, and he answered it, and heard her voice reply on the other end, his heart nearly stopped. "Lieutenant Hawkeye," he said, trying to keep his voice cool and disinterested, though a bit of his excitement crept through. "What can I do for you?"

"I haven't seen you around headquarters lately, and I know you lack a diligent adjutant, so this is a courtesy call to make certain you haven't started ditching work without someone to show up at your door if you don't come in." She did a much better job at sounding cold, Roy had to admit, but he could still tell from her voice that she very much missed the business of turning up at his place, even if her reasons hadn't always been so noble.

"Ha ha. Very funny, Lieutenant. I've been doing my work. If you miss me, you should come say hi on your break."

He couldn't tell if she was laughing or sighing. "I'll see you around, Colonel. Don't forget my promise." There was a pause, not quite long enough for a profession of love, but close enough. Roy knew she was thinking it, because he was thinking the same. "Good night." The line went dead before he had a chance to tell her the same.

He went to the window, looking out at the lights of Central, smiling to himself. Somehow, across all that distance, and all the time that had passed since they had last spoken in the cafeteria, she knew exactly when he needed her the most.


	6. Chapter 6: Obsession

On the nights when she couldn't sleep, she always saw his light spilling under her door. Rubbing sleeplessness from her eyes, Riza climbed out of bed and padded out into the hall, following the light to Roy's open door. Tonight, she found him using a priceless text for a pillow, drool in the corner of his mouth that was dangerously close to the yellowing page he rested on.

"Wake up," she ordered, shaking him for good measure. He always slept like a rock.

"What time's it?" he asked, the words slurring together, almost indistinguishable.

"Half past one in the morning," Riza said. She slid the book out from under his face and the ever-present threat of the drool he didn't even seem to notice. "You've been up late studying every night this week. Or sleeping on your books, I suppose."

He sat up at last, looking sheepish under his exhaustion. "Your father's a difficult man to impress."

"Tell me about it," she said darkly and Roy immediately grew serious, guilt clouding his features.

"Sorry. Didn't think." Bleary-eyed, he wiped the corner of his mouth and pushed himself out of the chair.

Riza turned down the covers of his bed for him. "You need to take better care of yourself. Living like this is only going to put you six feet under. It's not healthy."

"At least I'll be on my back then," he said with a shrug, crawling into bed. "Thanks for waking me up. I had the worst kink in my neck this morning."

"You're welcome. But, Roy, promise me you'll stop doing this." She hesitated, fighting to keep a tremor out of her voice. "I don't want you to end up like him."

For the first time, Roy seemed to truly wake up. "Like him? I could never be like him, Riza. You know that."

"He used to be a good man. There's a difference between diligence and single-mindedness and I don't want you to get lost in that. Promise me you never will." Try as she might to stop it, fear began to creep into her voice until she sounded like the scared, lonely girl she had been when they had first met. That seemed to frighten Roy more than her words.

He moved off the bed, came to her side, and placed his hands on her shoulders, squeezing them to reassure her. "I never will," he swore.

Relieved, she leaned into his chest, put her arms around him in a quick, gentle hug, and stepped away. As she turned to leave the room, Roy's hand caught hers and she looked back at him.

"You need sleep, too," he said. "If you need to talk about whatever it is keeping you up, I'm right here."

"Thank you," Riza said, a tiny smile curling her lips. "You're a good friend."

"So are you. Sweet dreams," he said. Giving her fingers a gentle squeeze, he returned her smile with one that seemed to fill the room with sunlight.

Riza slipped her hand from his. "You, too." Behind her, she could hear the bed creak as Roy climbed in, and she left the room, turning off the light and closing the door behind her. When she returned to her own bed, she found that sleep came easily, but her dreams were not so sweet.

* * *

Riza couldn't remember the last time she'd slept through the night, but her childhood standby of sneaking down to the kitchen and talking with Roy during those restless hours was no longer so simple. She still had tea, warming her hands as she curled up on the couch with the largest mug she owned, trying to calm her shaking limbs and frightened heart. No longer could she remind herself that the nightmares weren't real, only that she had to sleep so they could never happen again. She had to work and she needed her rest to do that.

She dialed the number with trembling fingers that she hardly recognized as her own, listened to each ring with an increasingly heavy heart until she heard a sleepy, irritated voice that soothed her, diffusing comfort like tea through the water in her mug.

"Roy?" she said in a small voice, afraid as she always was at the start of their calls that someone might hear the familiarity that they used in private.

"Oh, hey, Riza." His voice was gentle now, almost delicate. "Couldn't sleep again?"

She shook her head then remembered he couldn't see her through the phone. "I needed to talk to you."

"Do you want me to come over? I know you sleep better when I'm around. I do, too."

It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair that the one person she needed the most was the person she had to be careful with. He would have to sneak in and out, and she hated asking it of him, but she knew she wouldn't be able to think of anything but the tastes of sand and gunpowder unless he was here to ground her, to distract her.

"Riza?" he said. "Lieutenant? Are you still there?"

"Yes," she said. "Yes, please come. I want to think about something else tonight."

"I'll be right there," he said. "Don't worry."

He let himself in just as Riza finished her tea. As soon as the door closed, he rushed to her side, pulling her close, feathering soft kisses across her cheek and in her hair.

"It's alright. It's alright. I've got you now." He pried the mug from her shaking hands, placed it on the coffee table, and helped her up, holding her close as they walked to her room. He knew that her pride was damaged enough as it was, and that carrying her would only make her feel worse, something she was grateful for.

"If I could do it over again," she said, once they lay in each other's arms beneath the covers, "I'd choose this."

"You're still thinking too much about the past. I'm here now. I'll always be here, even if we can't talk like this outside, even if we can't touch like this." He ran his fingers through her hair. It was longer than it had been in the time they had known each other, and he still seemed to hesitate before stroking beyond the nape of her neck, as though expecting it to end where it had when he'd first grown accustomed to this closeness.

She kissed him softly, though her hands were still clenched into fists between their chests. He moved his hand from her hair to massage her fingers until they opened, moving from one hand to the next.

"It's alright not to think about it right now. Just relax. Close your eyes," he said, voice low and filled with concern.

She did as he asked, trying to think instead of his heartbeat against her fingertips. "Thank you for coming," she whispered.

"It was the least I could do." He squeezed her closer. "I love you."

She mouthed the words back, snuggling into his embrace as sleep came at last.


	7. Chapter 7: Eternity

Sometimes she wonders if it was all just a dream. The sensation of gentle hands across her skin, of lips pressed against her cheek as they move to form words she can no longer remember. Some of it has come back to her, in scattered pieces she collects whenever she sees something familiar in this empty countryside. She can't remember how long she has been walking. It feels like years; it feels like an instant. All she knows is that she is alone and she must remain alone. No one can see her, and it is easier to isolate herself than it is to see a familiar face stare through her.

She remembers dying, but only in the abstract. The moment of impact itself is clouded, and she thinks she would rather keep it that way. She remembers refusing a blindfold, and she remembers watching them carry her body away, and that is all she wishes to remember, except—

What happened to him? That is the answer she feels drawn to as she traverses the lonely countryside. There is no time for her, not anymore, and so she knows that he is out there somewhere, waiting for her. All she remembers of him is that it was his hands, his lips, that sometimes provide the phantom sensations that comfort her, and that he was on trial, too, but it had been deferred. She thinks she remembers seeing his eyes in a cell as they led her away.

Love. She remembers that, too, quite suddenly one night high in a mountain pass. She doesn't feel the need to rest anymore, but the staggering emotion leaves her on the ground, reclining against a pine tree because she needs to feel something solid in order to keep herself from crying out with the pain of loss. She loves him, still, and she knows that he is dead. Intuitively, she knows that means he is out there somewhere, searching for her just as she is searching for him, but that doesn't make it easier. She mourns him still.

On the far side of the pass, she understands at last where her quest has brought her. The view is so heartbreakingly familiar that the last of her memories crash over her in a tidal wave, leaving her trembling. All her griefs, all her regrets, have resurfaced, but with them are the times when she was happiest. Before she knew the mistakes she would make, she had been happy here, in this valley that seems so much smaller than it had back then.

She runs, now, down the slope, through the fields and woods, until she stands before the house far outside town: covered in ivy, windows boarded. Abandoned.

"Riza?" she hears his voice, the same as it was before it was weighed down by guilt and sorrow, and she turns, unable to believe until she can see him. He looks as disbelieving as she feels as his arms close around her, drawing her against his chest. "I thought I'd find you here," he whispers into her hair, following the words with gentle kisses.

"I missed you," she says. The lump in her throat is too large for more words to get past, and she returns his embrace instead of telling him how happy she is that she gets to be with him again.

They spend the day wandering through all the places they had known so well in the carefree years before the war, hands joined all the while. Without all the duties and rules that had forced them to keep their affection private, they revel in the newfound freedom to be themselves, to be wonderfully, openly in love. It takes Riza longer to adjust, but by sunset, she returns Roy's kisses without reservation.

As the dusk fades, Roy's hand tightens around Riza's, and she looks at him, head cocked. "What's wrong?"

"What now?" he asks. "Do we live out our lives the way we should have here in this house? Or are we supposed to go somewhere else?"

Riza's heart sinks as she comes to the same realization she sees in his eyes. "We leave. We never earned the right to play house. Finding each other—spending today like we did—that was more than we deserve. But," she says, placing her free hand over their joined ones, "whatever comes next, I'm not afraid to face it if you're with me."

A bitter smile twists his lips. "You did promise to follow me to hell."

"If that's what comes after, then so be it. I'm ready if you are." She stares at the horizon over Roy's shoulder as pulls her into one last embrace, and everything around them fades in a shower of sparks.


	8. Chapter 8: Gateway

The last thing Roy hears before the light swallows him whole is her voice cutting through the keening sound of the transmutation. When the world goes silent, they both echo in his head, and the ringing in his ears is almost a pleasant distraction from the blinding white emptiness that surrounds him. The only relief is that she has not been pulled along with him. Relief is replaced by horror as he realizes that this terrifying void is what the Elric brothers must have witnessed. There is no time for the surge of fatherly affection he feels for them, the empathy that brings a newfound respect for both of them. He only has time to swear he'll be a little kinder to Fullmetal, even if he'd never admit that to anybody but Riza.

Someone is watching him. Slowly, he turns to see a faceless figure standing before an enormous gate with patterns he recognizes. An eerie grin replaces the featurelessness of his companion, and his eyes widen in horror. Though Riza has thankfully, thankfully been spared, she is here all the same. The being identifies itself as the Truth, and if this place is the home of the truth, then it is fitting that he sees her upon its doors. He knows, of course, that the symbols are a part of flame alchemy, but he is so accustomed to the circle on his gloves that he associates the twining serpents with her back, and the way her skin feels beneath his hands.

The doors crack open, destroying the last, tenuous connection he has to the world he remembers, and the two parts of it that have shaped him the most, and he turns around fully, eyes wide with terror. Instinctively, he knows that he does not want to see what lies beyond, and he draws a sharp breath.

An eye opens in the darkness, and tendrils draw him toward it, the same as the ones that bound him to the circle only moments before. As he falls through this new void, his mind feels as though it is being stretched apart, and images fly past his vision: new theories of alchemy he has no time to digest; wars long before his time; his master's face; Riza, back when her smiles came easier; the Elric boys on the day he first met them; Hughes, with his endless supply of pictures; Riza, again, holding Elicia while Hughes gave him a look he knew so well; his own war; his own struggles; transmutation after transmutation, all too fast to process; and there were the parents he knew only from photographs. And then, just when he thinks he will burst, he sees Hughes again, standing beside Riza, both of them with crows' feet around their eyes. Is this Truth? Taunting him with a secret of human transmutation and a glimpse at his perfect ideal for the future? He has no time to think on it further. Everything goes dark, and his pulsing brain is grateful for it until he smacks into something solid. It feels like his world again, but he wishes that he could have ended up somewhere with at least a dim light to show him something—anything—that will distract him from what he has seen.


	9. Chapter 9: Death

Evening light spilled into the library, illuminating it with a pleasant, golden glow. Riza sat in the window, cushions propped up behind her back, and her bare feet tucked up beside her as she glanced up from her book. At the desk in the center of the room, Roy hunched over the latest trade report from Aerugo, deep in concentration. His reading glasses lay forgotten on a stack of books. No matter how many times she reminded him that they were a normal part of growing old, he preferred squinting at his paperwork to wearing them.

She set her book aside, stretching her arms above her head. The motion drew Roy's attention and he looked up at her. The sunset caught his gray hairs, and she smiled to herself. He wouldn't thank her to point them out, but they made her happy. The work of turning the country into a democracy was progressing, and in the meantime, as Fuhrer and First Lady, they had at least a small slice of time to spend growing old together. She relished the way he was starting to soften around the edges, and the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes, knowing from the way he looked at her that he felt the same.

"You'll lose your vision faster if you keep doing that," she chided him. "Maybe you should take the rest of the night off. Come sit with me." She stretched her legs out and patted the space where her feet had been.

His reflexes might not have been as quick as they once were, but Roy was as eager as ever to get out of work, and he hurried to Riza's side, putting his arms around her as he settled against the cushions. He stretched his legs out until his feet nearly rested on Hayate, who lay curled on the far side of the window seat, fast asleep as he so often was these days. Once able to leap up and defend Riza with ease, she had had to help him up to his favorite napping spot earlier that afternoon. His ears didn't flick in response to Roy's proximity, and his eyes opened only a fraction.

"Hayate?" Riza said, extricating herself from Roy's arms to move closer to him. "What's wrong, boy?"

All she got in response was a muffled whine.

"Roy, I think something's wrong with him," she said in a voice tight with fear.

In an instant, Roy was kneeling beside her, one hand on her back. "It's going to be alright, Riza. You stay here and while get a towel."

While he was gone, she spoke soothingly to Hayate, stroking his back and hoping he'd lift his head or thump his tail or do something to indicate that he would be okay long enough for them to at least get to the vet. "Come on, boy, you've made it this far. Just a little longer," she coaxed. Her voice was dry, threatening to crack at any moment, and she knew that, when it did, the tears would come, too.

Roy was out of breath when he came back, and he offered the towel to Riza wordlessly, a pained expression on his face. She was grateful he had stopped trying to comfort her with empty words they both knew she could see right through. Gently, she wrapped Hayate up in the towel, cradling him to her chest after. He was skin and bones in her arms: fragile and helpless. The realization threatened to choke her, and it was only Roy's hand on her arm that gave her the strength to walk.

Hayate lay completely motionless in her lap even after Roy turned the ignition. She rolled the window down in an attempt to coax him to move but the young, healthy dog who would have jumped up to stick his head out was long gone. The only motion that she could see now came from the wind in his fur and his shallow breathing that grew slower by the minute.

They made it to the office just as the vet was locking up. She took one look at the Fuhrer and jammed her key back into the lock. Riza had never been more grateful for Roy's influence. While Roy paid for the visit—adding a generous bonus for after-hours service—Riza carried Hayate back to a table.

He looked at her, making a tiny high-pitched whine as he struggled to reach one of his paws out past the edge of the blanket to touch her. Riza leaned down until her face was just in front of his and he licked her nose and gave another sad whine.

"Good boy," Riza whispered. Hayate barked his reply, sounding almost like his old self. Her heart rose, only to sink again in an instant when his eyes fluttered closed. When she reached out to pet him, he was still.

The pain hit her in waves. Her eyes stayed dry as she searched desperately for a pulse, but inside, she was sobbing. They started to well when Roy and the vet came into the room, and Riza looked at him feeling as helpless as she ever had in the long years since the Promised Day. It felt as though her heart shattered completely when Roy put his arms around her, and she used what little privacy his body offered to cry quietly while the vet examined Hayate.

When Roy's shirt was soaked with her tears and Riza was able to overcome enough of her embarrassment about crying in front of an acquaintance, she looked up, though Roy still held her tight. She was grateful for that. She wasn't sure she was ready to stand on her own yet, nor did she want to sink to the examination room floor.

They drove back with the windows up, and in spite of Roy's habit of reckless driving, Riza didn't once scold him for using one hand to hold her own. It was only when they reached the privacy of their own yard that he stopped the car and pulled her into an embrace again, waiting patiently while she cried as long and as hard as she needed to. She even felt a few of his own tears land in her hair and heard the crack in his voice as he whispered that she could take as long as she needed.

In the end, she decided that she would rather mourn inside, where she could lean into him more comfortably, but not before they buried Hayate. In a quiet corner of the yard, among the bones Hayate had buried in his more energetic years, Roy transmuted a grave. It was dark, now, but in the moonlight, she could just make out the inscription on the transmuted stone.

"Thank you," she said, surprised that her voice was almost steady again. Kneeling beside Roy, who didn't seem quite able to get up just yet, she brushed her hand over the gravestone. "And you, too."


End file.
